


Their Alexander

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Series: Laflams Alex is ignored [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex Hates Hashbrowns, Angst, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, PTSD, Pictures, broken relationships, war mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: Their Alexander left for war.Someone else came back.





	Their Alexander

In hindsight, it should have been obvious.

Seeing in hindsight has always been one of Alexander’s talents- though in moments such as these, he would have rather been able to see past the smoke and mirrors. The smoke sunk through his lungs, threading between locks of hair in his braid that had been so carefully woven by hands that wrote only lies. Hands that had pulled him close into a warm embrace, telling him to breathe steady through a panic attack, through the sobs that wracked hsi body as he remember the war that wrecked his mind. Patience runs thin, and as his raven hair neared the end of the braid, he would feel the others pulling away, tying it off and sighing. This was all they could do for him. It was more than enough for Alexander.

It was more than enough, to have those simple reminders that he was set aflame by passion rather than bursts of agony. That when he cried, his sobs would be coaxed out of him instead of joined by those of others. His dogtags laid in his old suitcase, the one that neither of his lovers were aware even existed. The fabric was torn in places, the handles falling apart from being so tightly gripped, but only by Alexander’s hands. It held few things, though he doubted that the amount would matter when Lafayette or John found them. Not if, when. 

When they found the small polaroid pictures, taken by untraceable cameras that their commanding officers had required them to use, what would they think? That Alexander was some sort of hero? Or worse, a fake? In most of the photos, he was smiling, arms around his army buddies, or holding one of those god-awful power bars that were the only good thing to eat for miles. What he wouldn’t give to know the man who smiled in such a way. Too bad that centuries stretched on between the two of them.

He had left on a cold October morning, a kiss pressed to each cheek by his lovers, John on the left with a somehow detached kiss and Lafayette on the right, sweeter and softer. Just in the way they had slept the night before, trying not to cry at the very thought of Alexander leaving them for so long. Nine months, Alexander had reminded them quietly, holding them as close as he could. Nine months that will feel like nine years, Lafayette had corrected in the broken English that only came to him in moments of distress. Nevertheless, Alexander had tugged on his uniform and allowed John to drive him to the airport the next day.

And that was the last they saw of Alexander.

Their Alexander.

What returned to them was not Their Alexander. 

Instead, when Alexander knocked on the front door, home two weeks early, Lafayette had opened the door without his glasses on, since it was early in the day. The taller man had taken one look at Alexander’s uniform and nearly collapsed. Before Alexander could get out a single word, Lafayette took his hand tightly, unable to see much more through the tears that flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He quietly thanked Alexander for his service, and said that he was indeed the partner of Alexander Hamilton. That he didn’t need him to say it, that he alredy knew why the other man was at his doorstep in uniform.

‘Just please… When will he come home? Is… Is there even enough of him left to bury?’ Lafayette had asked, holding Alexander’s hand tightly as Alexander’s eyes went wide. He hugged Lafayette tightly and apologized for scaring him in such a way. Apologized for looking so different from the Alexander that they had dropped off at the airport so many months earlier. Apologized for not coming home sooner.

In that moment, Lafayette held Alexander so tightly that he nearly suffocated, and began to cry even more than he already had. He called John over, who had been crying near the window, and they were whole again. Messes that stood half-inside and held each other close as possible, trying not to become even messier. They would need stitching together, yes. They would need new patches of fabric to hold them together, but the tan camo of Alexander’s clothes wouldn’t need to be used in the new picture they threaded together.

And they thought that maybe they would be okay again.

Until Alexander woke up screaming from the third nightmare in two days. He had needed John and Lafayette there, to hold him and reassure him that they were alive, and they were okay, and so, so far from the desert. Alexander had cried silently and pressed his face against Lafayette’s chest, trying to hide his tears, which would cause Lafayette to remind him that it was okay to cry in front of them. Lafayette stopped reminding him of that after nearly three months of nightmares. He stopped trying to bring Alexander to bed, most nights. Instead, the shorter man would pace up and down the hallways, keeping watch over his lovers. So Lafayette held John close instead, and tried not to weep for the shell of the man he had loved so dearly.

John didn’t have to hold back any tears.

Instead, he held back words. He kept himself from asking what Alexander had done to his old uniform, to the suitcase he’d brought home that day. John leaned against Alexander’s shoulder when they watched movies and kept his mouth shut when he wanted to ask Alex about switching movies when there were explosions on screen. Whenever the other man would ask him if he should get help, the kind of help that would stop the memories, stop the nightmares, John held back answers in the affirmative. And he held back looks, too. He held back that longing sort of gaze when he and Lafayette were alone in the house, and wished that it was that way again. The way it had been while Alexander was away. Where the kitchen was calm and quiet while Lafayette made breakfast, and he could dance with John while the hashbrowns heated up. Alexander hated hashbrowns.

When John found the suitcase, the one Alexander had hidden from them so well, he didn’t bring Lafayette the whole thing. Instead, he brought only a few pictures, and he did not bring them to Lafayette.

John sat down across from Alexander at the table and slid the photos in front of him.

“This is my boyfriend, Alexander Hamilton. He loves me and I love him. He wakes up early in the morning, and Lafayette and I have to convince him to go to bed most nights. He drinks too much coffee and somehow isn’t too jittery all the time. He doesn’t dream when he sleeps, but he cuddles up against us. He’s perfect, and I love him.

You aren’t my Alexander.

He’s dead.

Get out of his body, get out of my house, and let me mourn the man I lost.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are oxygen in the forest fire Alexander burned in <3


End file.
